


Venison

by Tierfal



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-20
Updated: 2010-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierfal/pseuds/Tierfal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was all terribly unfair... and bizarrely pleasant.  Prompt: <i>Morgana and Gwen notice that Merlin is pining and decide to help him win Arthur's affections.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Venison

"You're staring."

Merlin jumped; Morgana's voice had sounded without warning by his right ear. He swung around to face her and ended up spinning in a full circle to find that she had switched sides while he was moving, the better to lay what looked like a meaningful hand on Gwen's arm.

"Staring—?" Merlin managed, his face going warm.

"At Arthur," Morgana sang, contentedly and unabashedly, nodding to the prince—who, Merlin wanted to point out, seemed to be attracting everyone's eye, which wasn't too surprising given how the candlelight gleamed on his armor and his hair, decking him in sparks of silver and gold. It wasn't Merlin's fault that the feast hall might as well have been empty but for Arthur.

"You should go talk to him, Merlin," Gwen urged him gently, appearing to be striving not to notice that Morgana's hand had settled at the small of her back. "He's not busy, and I'm sure he'd love a real conversation after all this courtly nonsense."

Merlin made a face. "I can't just go up to him…"

Gwen and Morgana were sharing a very ominous look.

"What?" Merlin prompted, wondering if he even wanted to know.

As it turned out, he definitely hadn't wanted to know.

He supposed that, given Morgana's prowess with a sword and Gwen's work ethic, he shouldn't have been so surprised when they easily overpowered him, smuggled him out of the hall, dragged him through the castle, and bound his wrists to Arthur's bedpost with Morgana's sash.

Aside from remarkable strength, the pair of them had also been endowed with incredible, devious cleverness, as Morgana stayed to monitor him, and Gwen returned to the feast to monitor Arthur, prepared to hurry back and give warning when he was about to arrive—meaning that Merlin wouldn't be alone long enough to slice through the silk with magic and subsequently to run like hell.

This was criminal.

Merlin tugged helplessly at his makeshift manacles, trying to get leverage from where he was sitting on the floor by the bed-frame.

"Won't Arthur be more than a little perturbed?" he asked.

Morgana smirked. "Yes," she answered. "And more than a little turned-on."

Merlin whimpered.

Gwen scrambled in. "Here he comes!" she cried, and, instantaneously, she and Morgana fled, hand in hand and giggling.

Merlin cowered and attempted to blend in with the bedspread.

The door slammed open and then shut, and Arthur grumbled something about "ridiculous" and "boring" and "wonder who pissed in the wine this time."

Not a particularly 'turned-on' topic of conversation.

Not the last time Merlin had checked, anyway.

Arthur slung his cape over the back of his chair, followed it with a clattering waterfall of discarded armor, and raked both hands through his hair, which fluffed accordingly.

Then he turned and saw Merlin.

Merlin, to his credit, somehow squeaked out a largely-comprehensible, "Hullo."

Arthur stared at him, which was a little bit nice given how much unrequited gazing Merlin usually did.

But which was mostly not.

Something flickered in Arthur's bewilderment, but he closed himself immediately, wiping every indicating trace from his expression, and moved intently to the bedside, where he looked down at his newfound captive and then knelt.

Merlin cringed in anticipation of another _mental affliction_ lecture, but Arthur just peeled off his gloves and started working at Morgana's impressively complicated knot without uttering a word.

Merlin wondered if his ears were drooping. Arthur was probably exhausted, and to have to return to his safe-haven to such a lewd suggestion, and _then_ to have to disentangle the obstacle to his well-deserved rest—

Arthur's gently calloused palms and scar-crossed knuckles were brushing Merlin's skin, and it was very, very distracting. Merlin tried to curl his fingers smaller, knowing that his ears were going red like a pair of pennants, and sought something to look at that wasn't Arthur's face, something to feel that wasn't Arthur's touch, something to breathe that wasn't Arthur's scent…

(Soft sweat and spices and a musky whiff of the stable, and sword polish and iron and a tingle of wine.)

"Don't fidget," Arthur reprimanded.

Merlin attempted to immobilize his hands, but they were shaking now. "Yes, Sire."

"Merlin."

"I'm trying."

"Try harder."

"But—"

Merlin gave up on his protest as Arthur grasped both of his servant's slender hands in one of his own, continuing to pick at the knot with the other.

There was an extremely long pause, which Merlin spent remarking to himself on the strength and warmth of Arthur's hand and the delicate balance of firmness and care in his very grip.

This was all terribly unfair.

And bizarrely pleasant.

He shivered, and Arthur stopped to look at him.

"Merlin," he said, "are you drunk?"

Merlin colored a bit more yet.

"Not that I'm aware of," he responded.

"Then," Arthur muttered, glaring venomously at the incorrigible knot, "why are you looking at me like that?"

Merlin blinked. "Like what?"

Arthur took a moment to frown at him. "Like I'm venison," he said.

There was another extremely long pause.

And then another.

Merlin found his voice. "_Venis_—"

It frolicked off again as Arthur pressed his wrists to the post and kissed him.

Merlin was going to kill Gwen and Morgana.

The second after he'd finished thanking them.


End file.
